About Time
by enigste1
Summary: Charlie's thoughts on the fourth dimension. Oneshot.


A/N: I originally planned to post a different piece - I informed some people of my intentions to do just that some time ago. Unfortunately it was all on paper and that document was destroyed accidentally. I may recreate it at some point in the future. Until then, I offer this instead.

Disclaimer: I was sitting on the settee, enjoying the late afternoon sunshine, when my doorbell rang. I'm sure you'll be just as surprised as I was to find out who had come for a visit. Charlie stayed for a cup of tea and related this tale to me. The poor man seemed exhausted by recent events, but I assure you - I did not keep him against his will. He mentioned something about having to see a man about a camera...

-x-x-x-x-x-

Time.

It is mutable, expressive, open to interpretation. It flows at different speeds for different people. It is lost, found, watched, ignored, saved, wasted, spent, hoarded, stolen and borrowed . It flies, crawls, heals…

It stops.

There is a lesson to be found there. One watches as events unfold, noting how waiting seems to take forever and then things begin happening all at once. Time speeds up and the situation changes with increasing rapidity, appearing for all the world like a multi-camera, low-budget movie with no continuity director. The tempo increases and time flashes forward in fits and starts, creating gaps, and one wonders if something essential has been missed. Flashes of images, caught by the mind's eye, only to be replaced a fraction of a second later by something new. And then time stops…

_Larry would have an explanation for this_, he thinks. The way everything grinds to a halt and is focused on one single point. He thinks perhaps this is the moment referred to in the old saying 'Stop the world – I want to get off'. This is when it's done.

He shouldn't have been there, really. It was only luck – whether good or bad, he hadn't decided – that brought him to this place at this moment. He'd been with a few people from the University Club having a casual meeting in a local Pasadena restaurant. There had been whispers that Professor Eppes of CalSci was being considered for membership and his colleagues couldn't wait to share the good news. Nothing was official, of course. Charlie would receive an invitation to luncheon at the prestigious club if it did.

The information excitedly imparted, Charlie and his companions enjoyed a leisurely meal and left the cozy restaurant for their vehicles. As they waved and wished him good fortune, the mathematician's eye was drawn by a commotion further down the street. It looked as though someone – or perhaps several someones – had drawn the attention of a large group of law enforcement officials and had barricaded themselves in a small shop on the corner.

He watched in detached fascination as the police cruisers arranged themselves strategically around the establishment, the occupants scrambling out of their cars and drawing their weapons as they took cover behind their vehicles. Charlie knew that he was too far away to be in any danger and allowed himself the luxury of being an innocent bystander.

The LAPD officers fanned out to surround the building with the precision of a well-oiled machine. While a few of them gathered at the side of another shop to hold an impromptu conference, the others maintained their vigil, watching doors and windows like hawks.

The group clustered together suddenly broke apart, each dark-clad individual nodding in agreement with the others. A pair of police officers went to the back of a cruiser and one opened the trunk, taking out what appeared to be a large-bore shotgun, while the other drew out a megaphone.

Charlie could barely hear what was being broadcast through the device, but he surmised the speaker was attempting to notify the suspects of an impending phone call. Such was the usual method of attack, he knew. It remained to be seen whether the perpetrators would listen to what they had to say. The officer with the megaphone then laid it back in the trunk and produced a cell phone, quickly dialling and then holding it up to his ear.

The young genius considered leaving at that point – the officers would be playing a waiting game, and he really needed to be getting home – when a large, dark vehicle with tinted windows drew his attention by slowly turning the corner near the assembled forces. Charlie recognized the heavy SUV at once as belonging to his brother and had to restrain the urge to hurry down the street to talk to him. He hadn't seen his older sibling for almost two weeks and – truth be told – he was relieved to see the dark-haired figure step out of the truck to join the others. He couldn't see Don clearly, but Charlie could imagine the lines of fatigue that would furrow his brow and the dark circles he would have under his chocolate-brown eyes. His brother stepped around to the back of the cruiser and spoke to an officer there. That policeman in turn pointed to another man and Charlie watched his brother run in a half-crouch behind the shielding vehicles to join another small group. They began conferring and Charlie shifted slightly to encourage circulation, once again considering heading home.

Movement caught his attention and held it fast. The front door of the shop was opening slowly and people stepped out, their hands held high. They appeared to be average citizens – the shop's patrons, no doubt – and the tension in the way they held their bodies told Charlie they were terrified. Not really hard to see, even with his vantage point five blocks down.

Several police officers in riot gear pulled the people away as the exited the building. A couple of them nodded frantically to their rescuers and were led to other groups of officers where they were sat down on the tailgates of ambulances, wrapped in blankets and presumably questioned. Charlie smiled softly as two officers crouched behind a cruiser watched this development and then high-fived each other. He decided at the pace things were going, it might be worth the wait to see how the situation turned out. Charlie folded his arms and leaned up against a lamppost to watch the proceedings.

This was the part where Time became the Loki of physics. As if taken in snapshots, the mathematician saw several things happen at once: the display window of the shop shattered into innumerable pieces… the police officers all ducked down behind their vehicles… an upper window of the two-story building that housed the shop slid open, unnoticed… the police cruisers began sprouting small holes all over like vehicular acne… the emergency crews on the side street gathered up the released hostages and sped away… a car came around the corner at high speed… the officers turned to meet the new threat… gunfire erupted from the shop, the open windows of the car and the cornered law enforcement officers…

Later, he would describe the sensation as 'telescoping'. Charlie's vision narrowed and sharpened on his brother's form. Caught between a rock and a few semi-automatic pistols, Don made himself as small as humanly possible and returned fire to the car. The mathematician could see the grim set of his jaw as cool efficiency took over, firing round after round into the sedan as it sped by. According to the calculations that suddenly appeared in his head, Charlie estimated that less than three percent of the bullets fired from the speeding vehicle would actually find their mark, even if there _were_ five people in the car.

Which there were.

Even at those odds, a few of the officers fell prey to the brutal volley. One minute they were kneeling behind their vehicles, weapons up and barrels spouting fire as they shot at their attackers, the next lying on the ground motionless.

Charlie watched in awe as his brother reached across the man beside him with one hand and wrested the rifle-type weapon from the hands of the officer beyond. He stood suddenly and shouldered the weapon, aiming it at the gaping shop window. The muzzle of the weapon erupted and a thin trail of smoke was the only proof that it had been fired. There was a flash of light within the building and greyish-white clouds began billowing out.

Then the world stopped.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Megan asked him later how he managed to get to the hospital so quickly. He'd arrived almost at the same time as the ambulance. Charlie couldn't put into words the events that followed after he saw Don go down. He could _visualise_ it, but he couldn't _vocalise_ it. He shook his head mutely, his eyes fastened on the industrial tile on the waiting room floor and… waited.

His father arrived at some point. He didn't know when. The older man was just suddenly there beside him – not touching, but his presence a welcome anchor for reality when all that was real tried to escape. Alan tried to talk to him, he knew, but Charlie's mind was a whirlwind of scenes being viewed in an eternal loop and he didn't know how to interrupt the playback.

_Don stood._

_Don fired._

_Don fell._

_Don stood._

_Don fired._

_Don fell._

_Don stood._

_Don fired…_

Someone on the surgical staff entered then and informed them Special Agent Eppes was going to be released within the hour. Alan breathed a sigh of relief and turned to him, asking if he had heard. Charlie nodded wordlessly and stood…

_Don fired._

_Don fell._

_Don stood._

_Don fired._

_Don fell…_

He forced his feet into a rhythmic pattern – _left, right, left, right_ – down the hallway behind his father to the emergency room. They stepped through the parted curtain to see Don sitting on the edge of a gurney buttoning up his shirt.

Charlie only half listened as the doctor explained how to care for the wound in Don's leg. He was watching his brother wrestle with the unfamiliar crutches as he hobbled over to the regulation wheelchair – mandatory conveyance for those leaving hospitals everywhere.

Alan stated his intention of bringing the car up to the front entrance and disappeared through the gap in the hanging fabric. Charlie held back as an orderly wheeled his brother out and then he followed suit. He didn't notice Don casting sidelong glances at his haunted expression, worry creasing his brow. He merely concentrated on his walking – _one foot in front of the other_ – until they stopped on the sidewalk.

Together Alan and the orderly helped Don into the back of the car, gently manoeuvring his injured limb so it lay along the seat. Charlie took the crutches and deposited them in the trunk before climbing into the passenger's seat and securing his belt. The trip home was quiet and uneventful – a powerful anticlimax to earlier in the evening. The mathematician stared out of his window the entire way, letting his father and brother's conversation wash over him. When they finally gained the driveway of the picturesque Craftsman home, Charlie was the first one out, gathering the crutches from the trunk and standing by to help his brother from the car. The three of them proceeded slowly up the walk to the front door and Don allowed his father to assist him up the steps. Once inside, Charlie did as he was bidden and collected cushions from the various pieces of living room furniture, handing them to his father as the older man carefully arranged them behind Don's back and under his affected limb. He brought a blanket from the upstairs hall closet and handed it to his brother when asked, mindful of the fact that his father had disappeared into the kitchen at exactly the right moment.

Charlie lifted his gaze to his brother's face when he spoke and took note of the lines and circles he'd been so sure were present earlier. He blinked when he saw his brother's mouth move and suddenly sound came back to him in a rush.

"Dad said you had a lunch meeting today. Something about a membership at a private club. Want to tell me about it?"

Charlie shook his head slowly. "Now is not the time," he whispered.


End file.
